The Light Won't Find You
by Vinniey
Summary: Every time Jason looks at Tim, it's a reminder. A reminder of what he once had, what he left behind, what evils the world was capable of. And Jason's hatred is rooted deep. Omelas AU!; Possible Jaytim, Jaydick, or both.


**_A/N:_**_ So I was talking to my friend jaydicktim earlier and she started writing. I read what she had written and she inspired me so much that I decided to start writing a fic I had thought of two years ago. It's a complete piece of garbage and sucks, but I haven't written in a long time either so I figured I'd put it out there anyway. I love the short story of Omelas to death, and I find the brutal truth or morality of it all extremely beautiful and beneficial to life. So I definitely recommend you read it. It's about 10 pages long and it's absolutely wonderful yet cruel. It does contain violence, just as my story does, so read with a word of caution._

_I hope my writing doesn't make your eyes bleed too much. ;P_

* * *

**The Light Won't Find You  
**_Chapter 1: The Light Won't Find You  
_((Started: July 19th, 2014/Finished: July 19th, 2014))

It was far from an acceptable lifestyle.

They traveled from town to town, temporarily living in abandoned homes and rundown motel rooms that always smelled of dirt and disease. Their blankets were always ripped and torn, large holes gaping through the coarse fabric; Jason usually just gave them to Tim and slept without them, but he always wound up molded against the other boy because he'd freeze in his sleep. Sometimes he would pickpocket pedestrians among the crowd to make the money pouch feel heavier, just as a security measure. It made him feel safer.

He had become more skilled at stealing with time. His first attempt had ended on bad terms, resulting with a broken rib, a dislocated ankle, and a bruised ego.

The two of them hadn't eaten for a week because of Jason's careless actions. He had made sure that nothing of the sort would ever happen again.

Every time Jason looks at Tim, it's a reminder. A reminder of what he once had, what he left behind, what evils the world was capable of. Emotions of all kinds would fill his core: sorrow, anger, pity, fulfillment, fear, confusion, regret.

Contentment.

It was always an endless cycle that left him mentally exhausted and unstable as it continued. There was no way for him to stop it, at least not to his knowledge, and the two of them suffered because of that.

But it was the untold truth that Tim had it the worst.

Jason would love to say that he had forgotten (or almost) Tim's appearance of when they were back in Gotham. He had been sixteen when he first laid eyes on the younger boy, and immediately he had been filled with horror and disgust.

Tim was confined to a three-by-three closet, forced to sit in his own filth and only receive one meal a day that consisted of a rotting sandwich, mystery mush that attracted too many flies, and a slosh of water. He was nothing but skin and bones hunched over in the cramped space, the color of his flesh jaundiced and almost as dark as dirt. No one had offered him garments; that was a luxury he was not permitted. Jason had been able to count every disc in the defined spine within seconds.

Blue eyes had dimmed over time, and they contained defeat with a hint of fear as the boy looked up at his visitors. There were no windows in the small excuse of a shack, so when the door was closed, Tim was forced into complete darkness. The only time Tim ever saw the light of day was briefly when he was given his meal, or if some civilians decided to beat him.

It made Jason ill, and he immediately wanted to help the boy. Ask why he was even in such a condition and why no one has done anything yet.

"He's the reason why we have such a good life," they said.

"We live a perfect life. He deserves it."

Jason cared. He cared so damn hard.

But he was given a choice.

When you reached the age of sixteen, you were taken to see the boy in the closet, the sole reason as to why you live in a utopia. At this age you are more developed cognitively and can handle the dark truth, and you are given a choice.

You can either stay and continue to live in the _perfect _world–  
Or you can walk away with only your clothes on your back.

Jason chose to stay. For now.

It was after two years that Jason had finally set his plan into action and had freed Tim. He had snuck out in the dead of the night, a sack of clothes, money, and rations on his back. The teen held some clothes in his hands, his own, that he planned on giving the boy. Their builds were completely different as Jason had his own fair share of muscle, but he figured he could make something fit at least. In the end, only the shirt would fit, though Tim had been swimming in it. The garment covered everything important though.

So Jason pulled Tim out of the closet, hoisted him up onto his back, and ran. He ran as far as he could until he needed to slow down to catch some of his breath.

He left Gotham and never looked back once.

Only now does he think about if his actions really even mattered. Sure, he had saved Tim and he doesn't regret freeing him from that hellhole, but what would keep the people from getting another victim? Tim hadn't been the first to suffer, apparently. There was probably already another poor soul locked away in that box.

He _hated_ those fuckers.

* * *

But they were here now, one year later. Tim could actually walk now; he had suffered from so much atrophy that his legs had been numb for years, but Jason had helped him regain his motor movement. He had feared the worst for the younger male's spine, but he'd work on it every night or so in order to help realign the bones. It worked for the most part, but Tim had sluggish movements and a limp. Not to mention, he had more _meat _on him now. Jason would stare in awe at how he could no longer see prominent bones, and he was aiming on hopefully bulking the boy up eventually. He'd always give up half of his food, if not all of it, to Tim. It was difficult at first because Tim could barely ever keep anything down, but it's better now.

He still remembers that first night of when he had led them to an abandoned house near a stream. He had set Tim down, though still supporting him, and looked around for an ideal space for them to sleep.

"We're safe for now," he had said before looking down at Tim. "_You're _safe now."

The next thing the boy had done had surprised Jason, though he should have seen it coming. Tears had welled up in Tim's eyes as a coarse sob–that sounded like it _hurt_–slipped passed his lips. Before he knew it, Tim was clinging to Jason weakly while he wept into the broad, warm chest. Jason held him all through the night.

He still remembers the very next day when he went down to the stream and gathered water. He had warmed up the water with a fire, only to dump it in the porcelain tub of the house. Tim had a thick crust of grime coating his skin that took hours for Jason to get rid of. He had tried to be gentle, but he had to be a bit more forceful in order to get all of the dirt off. By the end of it, Tim's skin was a bright red, raw to the touch. Jason had felt torn about it, but at least he would be clean. He hadn't even wanted to touch the ungodly matted hair atop his head.

He still remembers the very first time Tim had spoken, after Jason had been expressing how he didn't even know the boy's name; therefore, he had taken the liberty of calling him "kid." It worked, for a while.

"Tim," the boy had croaked, the sound guttural and raw, conveying just how long his voice had gone unused.

Jason had looked like he had seen a ghost, eyes wide and face drained of color. His mouth was parted, slightly gaping as if he had just imagined what reached his ears. He could **_speak_**?

"What?" he questioned in a mere whisper.

Tim had suddenly looked self-conscious, shrinking back just a bit as if he was worried he had said something wrong. But he swallowed, blinking slowly before he opened his mouth again.

"Tim. My name is Tim."

Jason had been completely elated at the fact that he would no longer have to only hear his own voice.

* * *

Jason wouldn't deny that sometimes he became extremely angry with Tim. He'd be extremely cold and sometimes voice his hatred. Because sometimes, he hated Tim.

He hated how easy his life was before he had met Tim. He hates how difficult life outside of Gotham is because now they live on the run with barely any food or shelter. He hates how his life was ruined because of Tim.

But really, he hates himself in all actuality.

It wasn't Tim's fault for anything. Tim wasn't at fault for being thrown into the shack and suffering the rest of his life in torment. Tim didn't choose for Jason to save him; he didn't even _know_ he was going to be rescued. Tim didn't ask for anything at all. Ever. He didn't ask for Jason to leave his perfect life behind. And Jason hates himself for ever even thinking about regret because he doesn't regret saving Tim. It was worth it, so worth it. He would never have been happy regardless in Gotham after having witnessed the truth.

But Jason hates himself the most for embodying **_them_**. He's no better for those actions. He's doing the _same damn thing_ as those motherfuckers by yelling at Tim and blaming him for his own actions. He's tormenting Tim the same way those scumbags had treated him.

He's such a fucking hypocrite, and he'll never forgive himself for that.

Tim's reassurances only make him feel more guilty, and that can turn right back into anger because how _dare_ he. How dare Tim say it's okay when Tim had never done anything wrong. It was unacceptable. But the younger boy would just rest his head on Jason's shoulder and gently grip the warm bicep.

And they'd somehow be okay.

But Jason never stopped thinking.

* * *

"You shouldn't look at me like that," Tim finally said quietly as he cast a glance at Jason before he returned to washing their spare clothes. The older boy blinked in confusion, forced back out of his recollection of the past. He furrowed his brow, hesitation keeping him quiet for a bit.

"Look at you like what?" he finally asked, and Tim sighed. He turned around and gave him a look laced with sadness and fatigue.

Jason _hated _that look.

"Stop looking at me like I'm a charity case; you know it only hurts you more when you think about things."

Jason inwardly cursed, nearly wincing at the bluntness of Tim's words. As much as he hated to admit it, Tim knew Jason inside and out. He figured out things about the older man that Jason hadn't even known before himself. And Tim used that to his advantage for Jason's benefit.

It was no secret among anyone, and by anyone, it's meant as just the two of them. Jason was Tim's entire world. He saved him, granted him a new, better life, and protected him. The younger boy's every waking thought was of Jason, whether it was worrying about his safety when he was out on a run, or if it was just something as simple as wanting to ask him a question.

Jason had never been one for attachments in his prior life, always brash and sick of people. Always wanting to be free with no strings attached. But he found himself not really minding at all about this attachment. If anything, it gave him comfort.

But he always managed to hurt them both, never being able to let it go that he had lived 16 years of his life happily while Tim had suffered since he was five years old. He'll never be able to forget the fear in Tim's eyes that screamed "please don't hurt me" when he first saw him.

He'll never be able to forget that he blames Tim too for his own doing, and that's what hurts the most.

He hadn't even realized how close Tim had gotten until he felt thin, warm hands cupping his face. He looked up to meet a slight smile and genuine eyes.

"I will never be able to repay you for what you've done. You've given me my life back, and I'm remembering what it's like to live. To be happy. I can never say thank you enough," he whispered, leaning their foreheads together. It was an act of consolation that managed to stay with them since the beginning.

Jason's hands had come up to rest on the boy's still-too-thin waist as solace of his own, and he closed his eyes that burned of exhaustion. He could feel Tim leaning more into him at his legs began to tire, and eventually he would end up in Jason's lap. And they would sit there like that until they had their fill on contact and returned fully to the present.

Jason might even possibly go as far as saying that Tim was in love with him, but he's almost sure the reasoning of that might be the stockholm syndrome. _Almost_.

* * *

It wasn't long before they were on the move again. They can only stay in one town so long before people start to notice a pattern as to why all of their money and trinkets go missing. So they pack up whatever they have and hightail it to the next area.

Tim's been getting better with every move; the distance and time before Jason has to carry him or stop to rest keeps expanding so they can cover more ground more quickly. He's just not exactly too sure on how long they'll be able to continue this lifestyle before they both burn out.

He hopes that's a long time away because, so far, there have been no signs of relief.

The make it to the next town safely, both exhausted and wanting to seek shelter before nightfall. The town is smaller than the last, but cute and well-kept; however, the only available shelter in sight was an inn. It was decent sized, not too big, but it looked busy. Not only was Jason worried about a vacant room, but also if he'd have enough money to stay. He pushed the concerns to the side temporarily though.

_'__Relax. If needed, we can stay for only the night and I can just steal more cash tomorrow. Then we can leave,'_ he tried to tell himself, though he had a bad feeling in his gut.

They entered the inn, greeted by cool air and a light atmosphere. The two boys looked around in amazement; it was definitely the nicest place they've been in. Tim reached forward and tugged on Jason's sleeve.

"Jason, can we even afford this?" he whispered.

"What other choice do we have?" he replied, gently pulling him along up to the receptionist. "We'd like to rent a room, please." The receptionist, a young man, looked up and smiled brightly at the two. He had dimples and the bluest of eyes that were vibrant and dancing. His skin was a soft tan and he had gorgeous black locks that framed his face.

He was _beautiful_.  
Jason had to make sure he wasn't drooling.

"For how long would you like to stay," the man asked, still smiling as he typed something into the computer.

"Just the night, for now," Jason replied quickly, still mapping out those prominent features. His eyes traveled down to the man's chest, finding a name tag.

_Dick_.

_'__Oh for the love of-'_

Who the hell's name would be Dick? Someone _had _to be jerking his chain. He would have laughed had he not been so exhausted.

"Alright. May I have your names and a form of I.D.?" Dick asked politely. Jason reached into his pockets, pulling out his wallet that had a fake I.D. He had made sure to make a fake one. Didn't need people figuring out where they were or who they were. He handed the piece of plastic to Dick, as he recited their fake names. Dick hummed as he looked over the information, typing some in before he asked for a sort of payment. Turns out the inn wasn't as expensive as they thought, which was good in their case. Only this time when Dick looked up, his eyes focused on Tim. He nearly dropped the I.D.

"Oh my god," he whispered, eyes wide. Tim blinked in confusion, looking up at Dick who looked spooked. Jason wasn't exactly sure on how he was supposed to gage the gorgeous man's reaction.

"You," he continued in a quiet yet urgent voice. "You're the boy from _Gotham_. The boy in the shack."

At that moment, both Tim and Jason's faces paled and the urge to flee was incredibly strong.

_Oh shit._


End file.
